


In The Garden

by etrix



Category: Doctrine of Labyrinths - Sarah Monette, Supernatural
Genre: Canon Related, Cursed objects, Explicit Language, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Major Illness, No Plot/Plotless, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, no violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 20:25:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12490144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etrix/pseuds/etrix
Summary: In a garden, especially  a magical dream construct of one, you never know who might come walking down the path.This is a Supernatural/Doctrine of Labyrinths crossover. It takes place pre-series Supernatural so no changes to canon there, but it's mid-Corambis (the final book) for Doctrine of Labyrinths, so it's mildly AU for that series.





	In The Garden

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : I don't own the characters, but I did have fun playing with them. I give them back essentially the same as I found them. 
> 
> This work should only be found on fanfiction.net or archiveofourown.org. If you found it someplace else, please notify me through either of those sites (I'm etrixan on ff.net, and etrix on AO3). Thanks.
> 
>  **Acknowledgments** : Thanks go to my very patient betas, paperclippy on dreamwidth, and alecto_nyx on AO3. I made a lot of changes after they gave me their feedback, so any remaining errors are all mine.

**Dean**

Dean was pretty sure his motel room hadn't been a landscaped garden the last time he'd entered it, but there was no way to deny it was a garden now. A completely unfamiliar, freaky-ass garden.

Dean sighed. He'd just finished a nasty hunt involving a witch, a cursed object, and a possessed dog (he hadn't even tried to resist the Cujo jokes, even if he didn't have anyone to share them with) and all he wanted was a shower, a beer, and then a bed.

He turned around to leave (he'd find another room, thanks muchly) but the motel room's standard-issue, cheap door was gone, and in its place was a fancy wrought-iron gate with nothing but foggy grayness beyond the twisted bars. He placed a hand on the metal and pushed. Then pulled. It didn't budge. He looked for a handle or a lock. Nothing.

Muttering a string of curses, Dean pulled out his phone. At 26, it was kind of embarrassing to call his dad for a rescue, but he was dirty, tired, and sore, and he'd had enough of magical, mystical shit for the day.

No signal. And not even the low bars of a weak connection, but no bars, as in a connection wasn't available except through an act of God.

"Fuuuuck," he moaned. There went his shower. He dropped his head down, and _saw the beer_.

He'd bought it at a stop-and-rob across town, daring the clerks to comment on the dirt, the ripped jeans, and the vile-colored goo coating half his body. Knowing the skinny one on the right had his finger over the panic button, Dean had pretended he'd just wandered in from a hard day wrestling cows (right activity, wrong species) so _of course_ he was dirty. What of it?

The clerks hadn't stopped watching him like he was a walking germ cell, but they hadn't called the cops either. But that little bit of embarrassment was paying off now, because he could have a cold beer while he contemplated the depth of his current fucked-upness.

He put down his tool bag and took a bottle from the 6-pack. Opening it with uncaring ease, he turned to look at the garden. A cobbled path led straight from the gate to a circular hub, where a multitude of paths led into treed or flowered areas. If he hadn't walked into it from his motel room, it could almost be any old garden park. Except... He'd hung out in enough landscaped cemeteries to know most of the common bushes and flowers, and the plants lining _these_ paths weren't right. They were brighter and shaped wrong. Their colors were weird. And, he noticed, there weren't any roses. Dean hadn't been in any landscaped area that _didn't_ have some type of rose. Then he saw shimmering outlines of people walking along the paths.

Dean squinted, shaded his eyes from the hazy sun, but the people walking around the park didn't get any clearer. Ghosts?

The ghosts didn't come close to the gate, but Dean still watched as they walked through the circle, taking the path opposite their entry point.

If the motel were haunted (it was certainly old enough to have collected a few) then that would almost explain the park-in-the-bedroom. Built on an old cemetery would be even better. He took out his EMF reader and waved it around, looking for headstones or grave markers. Instead of the off-the-chart reading he'd expected, only two lights came on—dead standard for most places. The buzz, however, went up and down like Tarzan's yodel.

"Huh," he said and took a thoughtful swig of beer. He'd never had that happen before. Never _heard_ of it happening. It was the kind of puzzle his dad loved, and more than ever, Dean wished he could call the man up and talk to him about it, but when he checked his cell phone, it still couldn't connect to a network.

A couple more spirits came out of a flower-lined path heading towards the circle, and Dean decided he'd have to leave the gate if he really wanted to figure out what was going on. He carefully placed his bottle on the top of the post (so he'd know if it was the same one when he turned back around), grabbed the box of salt and the flask of Holy water from his tool bag, and strode the half-dozen steps it took to reach the path hub.

The two walkers looked almost like twins. They wore clothes that were practically identical, they were both on the thin side, both nearly as tall as him, and probably both male (though the one on the right could've been a flat-chested girl). As they got closer, he noticed that their hair was braided in the same pattern, like a basket, that reached the middle of their backs. It would probably be vivid red if they weren't so all-over pale and spirit-like.

If they weren't twins, dressed up to look the same, they were certainly cousins, Dean decided.

They didn't seem to notice him as they walked past, so Dean held up the EMF meter. It blipped up to three lights, but the sound still oscillated like a song sung off-beat and badly off-key.

The ghost on the left looked at him, or rather, at his EMF detector.

He (Dean thought it was definitely a he, and not a really flat-chested girl) turned to his companion, talking and gesturing at the converted Walkman. The other ghost looked at it, too. Then the second guy looked at Dean, and frowned at his clothes. He turned to his companion and started a discussion. Dean didn't have to guess he was the topic with the way they gestured toward him, but neither of them tried to talk to him. Since they were arguing right beside him, but Dean couldn't hear a word, he thought it was probably the same for them. He could talk, but they wouldn't hear him.

Except they'd maybe heard his EMF detector.

Kinda weird, but Dean had encountered other ghosts who reacted to sound. Weirder was the fact that they'd noticed what Dean was _wearing_.

Dean had never run into a spirit that cared that his jeans were ripped. In fact, usually when they noticed him, they tried to kill him. These two had looked at him like they were the two clerks from the stop-and-rob last night. ( _This_ night? Dean hoped it was the same damn day.)

However, just because it wasn't standard ghost behavior didn't mean these weren't still ghosts.

Dean poured out a handful of salt and tossed it at the judgmental assholes. It didn't make them dissolve. They didn't writhe in anguish. it passed through them without causing a ripple, but not without being noticed. They paused, looking down at the path where the salt crystals sparkled in the late-afternoon sun.

Dean flung Holy water at them, a stream arcing out from the flask and landing an even distance away.

Same reaction as the salt. No dispersal, no agony, and no solidity. Just twin looks of civilized disgust.

Dean gave them a shrug and waited.

After a little more agitated grumpiness, the two non-ghosts took the path into the more open area of the park. They walked a little faster than before, and they peered over their shoulders a couple times to make sure Dean wasn't following them or chucking something at them.

Dean stood, weight on one leg, and calmly watched them go. From the hub, it was easy to see groups of non-ghosts walking on distant paths. He could even see what looked like a pond or something, beyond some bushes. There were no gravestones, no monuments, no markers. There wasn't an abandoned building or a desanctified church. There was absolutely no explanation for the ghost-like beings walking around a large, completely solid, park.

Now, he _really_ wanted to talk to his dad. Pastor Jim or Bobby Singer would also be good, because they were both great at turning vague descriptions ("weird plants" and "hazy people") into actual monsters that could be fought.

However, they weren't here and he couldn't talk to them, so he'd have to go looking for someone (or something) he _could_ talk to.

.o0o.

 

**Felix**

"It's getting worse," Thamuris said, his tone gently implacable. "Anything a bee lands on eventually withers.

"So Diokletian said." Felix's fingers fluttered around the base of his throat. He missed the weight of his rings, and all they symbolized. He was no longer a wizard of the Curia. However, he was _still_ a wizard—a resourceful, intelligent, and _brilliant_ wizard. He _would_ figure this out. He would not _panic_. Not over this.

"I don't think they can sting."

Did Thamuris think he hadn't _noticed_?

"The briars sting for them," he said without thinking. "They also make it almost impossible to reach the oak." Felix worked hard to keep any fear out of his voice but he knew it was there. The rubies were tainted. He'd brought them here, he'd buried them in the garden even knowing that they were tainted, and now the garden was dying.

Digging them up may have been the only option, but it wasn't the _best_ option. Not because he was afraid, but because it _wasn't._ After all, there was no place to take them that would be safe. Malkar's influence was like a disease. Malkar had taken Mélusine and the Mirador from him just he'd taken Felix's magic and his sanity. Malkar had taken Gideon…

Felix didn't want Malkar to take the Khloïdanikos as well, and that was exactly what was happening.

"It doesn't help that you still deny your spirit ancestor."

"He's _not_ –" Felix cut off his instinctive protest. It was an old argument and not worth repeating.

"Spirit ancestors don't have to be kind," Thamuris said softly. His voice was always soft because of the consumption. It didn't make hearing what Thamuris said any more palatable. "He was your mentor, your owner, your lover-tormentor-betrayer, and he shaped your spirit into what is part—a _large_ part—of who you are now."

"If that's true then you might as well say Mildmay is one of my spirit ancestors. He's had as much influence on me as anyone." Felix said sharply, mockingly, hating the condescension in his tone but unable to stop it.

Thamuris' smile was drug-fogged, but genuine. Of all the celebrants and students that Mildmay had met or had dealings with during their stay at Nephele, his brother had befriended only Thamuris and only Thamuris had thought Mildmay worth fighting for. "You wouldn't be this uncomfortable with a thief and former-assassin as a role model. Beneath his past your brother is kind, patient and accepting of people's short-comings."

"Yes, yes. He's a saint," Felix snapped. Thamuris' statement was, unfortunately, the truth, and Felix didn't need any reminder that he often treated his annemer brother quite badly.

Felix was filled with sudden, bitter resentment at how _easy_ it was for Thamuris to be calm, to smile at the past. He knew it was a result of the drugs Thamuris was given, but it didn't stop Felix from raging internally against Thamuris' serenity. _He_ had never lived under a Keeper. _He_ had never experienced Malkar's evil. _He_ hadn't betrayed or killed everyone that had ever cared for him.

Felix could feel ugly, wounding words sitting at the back of his throat. Thankfully, Thamuris continued speaking before Felix gave in to the impulse. "How is your brother?" he asked with genuine interest. "Has his leg improved any?"

"It has not." Felix took a breath to settle himself. "He's recovering from a bout of Winter Fever. A bad case. It always goes into his lungs."

"How unfortunate for Mildmay," Thamuris said with simply empathy. Of course, he would know the pain of those deep, wracking coughs that never completely emptied the lungs, because of the consumption that was slowly killing him.

Usually, the Troian appeared reasonably healthy in the Khloïdanikos, but now he looked extremely unwell. His health and the garden's were inextricably linked, so it wasn't just the one thing Felix risked killing by doing nothing about Malkar's rubies.

As if caused by empathetic resonance, Thamuris coughed, deep and ragged, and long enough that Felix considered dragging the young Celebrant to the nearest bench. When that offer was waved off, Felix put aside his dislike of being touched and allowed the Troian to hold his shoulder for balance. He had to remind himself that Thamuris _was_ _not_ Malkar, and this wasn't two years ago (or ten or even longer).

When the fit passed, Thamuris carefully folded his handkerchief away, tucking it into one of his robe's many pockets. He didn't look for blood, and Felix supposed that there it was likely there was always blood now. He offered to work on the problem with the rubies alone, but Thamuris gave him a surprisingly penetrating look. He knew that Felix probably would not work on the problem with Malkar's rubies if left by himself.

"Have you asked Mildmay about this problem? Perhaps in one of his stories there is a solution or even a similar situation?"

Felix very carefully didn't let his mouth drop as he stared at the younger man. It had never occurred to him to ask Mildmay, and perhaps it should have. It probably should have actually. His brother had a wealth of stories about blood witches and ancient wizards, and maybe he _would_ know a story that might contain a solution or even a suggestion of something they could try, but Felix had never once thought of asking him.

He had two very good excuses, however. One, his brother was annemer—without magic and disdainful of what he called hocus stuff—so of course asking him about this very-magical problem wouldn't occur to Felix; and two, Mildmay never spoke of Malkar. Mildmay said he didn't remember much of his time as Malkar's prisoner, and Felix could believe it, but even if his brother had his full memories, Felix doubted that Mildmay would talk about it. The scars were memory enough for both of them.

Felix explained those reasons. Thamuris agreed, with regret, that they were cogent. The matter was allowed to drop, much to Felix's relief. It meant he didn't have to admit there was a third reason he didn't want Mildmay involved. It was a foolish and selfish reason—as Felix was perfectly aware—but that didn't invalidate it _as_ a reason.

The Khloïdanikos was somehow _his_.

Yes, Mildmay would most likely be unable to enter the garden. If he could, then he would most likely enjoy seeing Thamuris again, and yes, Mildmay would probably enjoy working on the puzzle of it—his brother's curiosity was surprisingly cat-like.

However, sitting in this magical construct, working with Thamuris, reminded Felix of the best aspects of being a member of the Curia of Mélusine. Felix had been used to spending hours discussing thaumaturgical theory with any wizard who was willing to discuss it with him—and some, like Robert of Hermione, who weren't.

It was a reason Felix barely admitted to himself, and he certainly wasn't going to admit it to Thamuris, so his companion's smile stayed in place because Thamuris had no reason to be disappointed in Felix.

"What we need," the Celebrant finally said, voice a slow sing-song. "What we need, is a completely new approach. A new school of thaumaturgy, perhaps."

Only Malkar's brutal training kept Felix from making a sound more suitable to the slums in which he'd grown up. If _he_ couldn't devise a procedure to cleanse Malkar's rubies of their taint, Felix doubted anyone else could.

.o0o.

 

**Dean**

If this was a dream, it was the most frustrating dream Dean had ever had.

He'd tossed everything he had in his tool bag at the spirits walking by: salt, Holy water, rowan ash, even lead buckshot he'd broken out of a shotgun shell. He'd yelled "Christo" a few times, chanted the start of two different exorcisms (mostly because he couldn't remember the complete incantation). He'd even rung _bells,_ for fuck's sake, one of the oldest dispelling charms in the world. He'd gotten a couple weird looks from the passing spirits but mostly he'd been ignored. Finally, he'd run right through a group of them, expecting cold spots, but he hadn't even shivered. Instead, they'd looked at him as if he'd been extremely rude. Like farting in church, but without the smell.

After that he'd backed off and started watching the spirit people more closely (maybe there was a pattern that he had to break) and he'd noticed differences between the clumps walking around. Well, first he'd noticed that they all absolutely pretended that the other clumps of spirit people didn't exist. Other than that, they were all generally tall as Dean, slimmer than Dean, and almost all of them were red-haired.

It was their clothes that set them apart. Within a group, they all dressed the same, but some groups wore robes that swept the ground, some wore shorter robes but longer hair. Others didn't have robes at all, but wore capes or long jackets and had their hair twisted into knots or complicated braids. All of them, without exception, seemed to be in Serious-Thinking or Important-Discussion mode.

Seriously, if he took a bunch of these people and dumped them onto Sam's campus they'd fit right in.

The longer Dean watched them politely ignore each other the more he wondered if this wasn't some kind of drug-induced, shared-consciousness experience (like Woodstock but with a much lamer soundtrack). Except that Dean hadn't done any drugs tonight. A) He was in Bumfuck, Utah and had no idea where to get anything. B) Drugs of any sort were not recommended when going up against fucking witches and Cujo, and C) Dean hadn't done any hard drugs since the spiked lemonade at Melody's (Melanie's? Melissa's?) twenty-first birthday party two years ago.

That had been his first time living away from Dad, and he'd sneaked some weed occasionally, and it had been fine. He would even admit to not hating _Dark Side of the Moon_ now, but any curiosity he'd had about trying something stronger had died at Melanie's party.

He'd expected the booze, but nobody had warned him that college kids did actually spike the punch with LSD and shit. He'd drunk a full cup before thinking that something was wrong. It was a short step from his eyesight going weird to seeing things that weren't there, and when somebody had seen as much brutal shit as Dean had, it made his bad trip not fun for anyone. The party had stopped as soon as Dean had pulled his iron knife out of his ankle sheath. Melissa (and everyone else at the party) had seriously freaked out.

Cassie had been there with him. The only reason Dean had agreed to go. She'd taken him back to her place to wind down. Of course, once he'd recovered, she'd wanted to know why he'd reacted so badly, and Dean had made his dramatic confession about what he _really_ did on weekends, which had been the end of _that_ little piece of domesticity. So, no. Dean didn't voluntarily do hallucination-inducing drugs.

Still, it would be a decent explanation for whatever the fuck this was.

He was covered in noxious goo from the cursed object. Maybe it had hallucinogens that could seep through his skin?

He scraped some semi-dried stuff off his jeans and lifted it to his face. It didn't look like a drug, but what did he know?

He waited, but his finger didn't start tingling or itching or anything else that would indicate chemicals, so he sniffed it (ass). Finally, he licked it, like they did on TV. It tasted worse that it smelled (ass with diarrhea) but he couldn't sense any effect on his senses (aside from a desire to scrub his mouth a zillion times).

He opened a beer, rinsing and spitting until he couldn't taste it anymore. Then he took a long chug and went back to figuring out what the frig was going on.

So, if it wasn't drugs, and if it didn't look like any kind of shared dream state, then the only explanation was some kind of alternate reality, and if there was one thing Dean knew about being dragged into alternate realities, is that somewhere there would be a Wizard with the key to getting back out again.

"Time to follow the yellow brick road," he muttered. "But I swear, if I meet a talking scarecrow I am shooting its ass."

.o0o.

 

**Felix**

"Ah thank Christ," said a gruff voice from behind him, "Solids."

Felix turned to face the unknown voice and stopped short at the figure striding toward them. "Mildmay?" he whispered even as he knew this man wasn't his brother. He was too tall. His hair wasn't red. His gait lacked Mildmay's awkward hitch. Plus, the stranger was smiling, and Mildmay never smiled. Couldn't, really, with the long scar that twisted the left side of his face and left it lifeless.

However, Felix forgave himself his momentary confusion. Despite being dirty, the stranger was astonishingly good-looking, with vivid—slightly skewed—green eyes, the same shade as Mildmay's. His shoulders were wide and he held himself with the grace of some who knew the extent of their physical power and enjoyed it. He was beautiful in the way Mildmay was beautiful.

Felix swallowed back the thoughts: Mildmay was off limits for numerous reasons.

"Hey, I'm Dean," The stranger's voice was lighter than Mildmay's growl. His diction much clearer. "You wouldn't happen to know how the fuck I get out of this place."

"You wake up," Thamuris answered him.

"So, this _is_ just a dream?" The man—Dean—asked as if he didn't believe it. Or rather, as if he didn't _want_ to believe it.

"Well," Thamuris qualified, "dreaming is how I travel here."

"And I," Felix added, frowning. How had Dean entered the Khloïdanikos if not through a dream? He took at harder look at the newcomer, trying to determine his home territory—and therefore his school of magic—from his attire.

It should have been easy. Even before the trip back from Troia and his more recent journey to Corambis, Felix had been interested in how wizardry was practiced elsewhere. He'd made a point to meet (and hold his temper) with most the wizards and mages who visited the palace on their way through Mélusine. However, Dean was… Uncategorizable. His hair was short—shorter than Mildmay's. Short enough that Felix wondered if Dean had recently recovered from a fever. Then there was the clothing, which was like nothing he'd ever seen. Dean's coat was fine enough leather, but it was completely unembellished and barely long enough to cover his hips. Dean's trousers were made from a dark, thick fabric that, went all the way from his hips to his booted feet—no stockings or buckled shoes. All that would make him a farmer, or a laborer of some kind, not a wizard with powers of oneimancy. The only items with any kind of patterning were Dean's shirts. He wore two that Felix could see, and they were… Well, at least they had designs on them.

Where had Dean traveled from that his clothes were so strange?

Prettiness aside, it bothered Felix immensely that he couldn't identify the man's origins for it meant the Khloïdanikos had a reach neither Thamuris nor himself had ever contemplated.

"You're taking this remarkably well," Thamuris said peaceably.

"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged. "See enough strange shit, you begin taking it for granted, you know?" He smiled down at Thamuris and Thamuris smiled back, soft with drugs and sweet because Thamuris _was_ sweet. Unlike Felix.

The shot of jealousy was both unexpected and unwelcome. Felix crushed it mercilessly. Along with the guilt when his companion's growing rapport was interrupted by rough coughing. Thamuris pulled out a handkerchief and covered his mouth, although they were reasonably certain his consumption couldn't be transferred while in the garden.

Dean frowned in concern. "Dude, you don't sound so good. You need to sit down?"

Thamuris waved him off. "It passes," he managed to scratch out.

"Okay. Your body." Dean flicked sharp, green eyes over all of Thamuris, and it was obvious that he knew Thamuris wasn't well.

Thamuris finished coughing, delicately wiping his lips and carefully folding the soiled kerchief before putting it away. "By the way, I'm Thamuris. This is Felix. I'll spare you our titles."

Dean nodded again. "Thanks for that," he said sincerely. "So. What about this being more than a dream?"

Since Thamuris was still having problems catching his breath, Felix answered the question. "The garden is actually an oneimantic construct–"

"'Mantic' means magic, right?"

"Divination, actually," Felix corrected.

"Close enough." Dean waved it away. "What's the other part?"

"Onei?" Felix asked delicately, voice polite through willpower alone. "It means 'dream'."

"Fuuuck." His face fell in resignation. "This is a constructed dream or a place constructed _of_ dream. But I wasn't asleep.

"You had to have been," Felix responded.

"Well I wasn't," Dean shot back. He waved his hand at the large bag hanging from his shoulder. "Would I have brought my gear–" He stopped. "Scratch that. I totally would."

.o0o.

 

**Dean**

Turned out, the two solid dudes _were actual wizards!_ (Hello, Oz) but they practiced different types of magic, and (when they weren't dreaming each other up in the garden) they lived a continent and a small ocean away from each other. It was a hell of a lot for Dean to wrap his mind around.

The tall one seemed to like to be right all the time, and Dean had to force himself to not consider him a threat. He also had to force himself not to stare, because instead of two sun-yellow eyes like the littler wizard (weird, but at least symmetric), Felix had one yellow and one blue. Add to that his height (tall as Sammy when he left for Stanford) and the primary-colored tattoos covering the guy's hands, and Felix would be hard to ignore in any situation. Dean bet Felix became a total bastard when threatened.

The other one (with an unpronounceable name and no tattoos) was a lot nicer, but that could've been the drugs making him mellow. His irises were so thin it made them look like little solar eclipses. Still, he may have been shorter, younger, and sick to boot, but he had no problem sticking up for his opinions with Felix.

Halfway through a discussion about how Dean got to the garden, the little one (Temris or Themris) started coughing again. Felix's concern was there but muted, so Dean got the idea that... Temrius (fuck it; he was calling him Tommy) did a lot of coughing. When he caught a glimpse of bright red spots on the hankie Dean knew why.

"The antibiotics aren't helping?" Dean asked Tommy sympathetically. Drug-resistant TB was pretty common in the neighborhoods they'd stayed in when Dad had a job in a big city.

"Anti… biotics?" Tommy tripped over the word, so he was probably unfamiliar with it. Neither one of them had had any trouble understanding him before. (That they _could_ talk to each other, and understand each other, was another one of this place's weirdnesses, but Dean figured it was a real-life version of Odin's all-speak which was very cool and he'd geek out about it later).

"Yeah," Dean answered. "Penicillin, shit like that." They still looked blank. (Dean almost asked if they'd grown up in a cult or something, then he remembered "Alternate Reality" and kept his mouth shut.) "Antibiotics kill the bacteria that make you sick. Or it boosts your immune system and your immune system kills them," Dean shrugged. It was one or the other. Either worked, as far as he knew.

"People just get sick," Tommy said.

"Yeah, because germs and bacteria and stuff _make_ them sick," Dean explained. "Antibiotics jump start the immune system, make it turbo powered, so you can fight off shit like TB."

When they still didn't understand, Dean wondered if this was why he'd been brought here. It was corny, but most alternate reality stories brought the hero over for a reason, and once the hero had completed the task, he got sent home. Maybe helping Tommy find a cure for whatever was wrong with him was the key to Dean's eventual return to the motel? (Hopefully with enough time for a good three hours' sleep.)

Felix straightened. "You're speaking of invaders."

Dean shrugged. Invaders was as good a term as any when you weren't a doctor.

"Invaders?" Tommy asked.

"It's what Practitioner Druce said caused Mildmay's winter fever," Felix replied.

"You called a healer for Mildmay? And he _let_ you?" Tommy looked stunned. "Just how sick was he?"

Felix waved off the question. "She said the illness was in his blood, and if you had the proper device—"

"A microscope," Dean interjected.

He waved off the interruption. "She called it a minisculium. With the device, you could see into a person's blood and see these invaders."

"That's the bacteria," Dean interrupted again. "Antibiotics help your body fight them off."

"Like directing the vi," Felix said softly enough that Dean ignored it. Sounded like new age bullshit, anyway.

"Penicillin is the most common antibiotic," Dean said. "You don't have it here?"

"Obviously not," Felix snapped. "Or else we would have recognized it when you mentioned it."

Dean frowned. "No need to be a douche about it." He would've gone on, but there was a gentle touch on his arm.

"How do you make these… Antibiotics?" Tommy asked hesitantly.

"Oh man," Dean groaned. "Hang on. I gotta think back. It's been a few years since I helped my geek brother with that science project."

Sam had been in… middle school? Yeah, middle school in Pullman, Washington. Dean had had his first sorority chick there. (Vanessa, Veronica? Something with a V.) She'd been pre-med, and the one to suggest making penicillin for Sam's project. She'd gotten them into the university library so Sammy could research it. She'd even dragged Dean up to the supply closet to grab some supplies (and to do some other stuff).

Yeah, Dean thought with a smile, that had been a great science project. Now to remember the actual _science_ part of it…

"You get some fruit—we used, um, an orange, and some bread, I think. Let it go moldy, like _really_ moldy—the gross blue-gray stuff. You put that in a sterilized jar with… agents. I dunno. Stuff to help it grow. Then you mix water, sugar, uh… Salt peter or Epson salts. Or maybe salt peter _and_ Epson salts?"

Dean thought back. It was funny how the smell of the mixture had come back so clear now that he was thinking about it. And remembering the smell let him remember the other stuff. They'd used whole-wheat bread, rather than white, and lemon wedges Dad had got from the bar he hung out at. Actually, Dad had helped a lot on the project. Dean figured that was mostly because Dad had like the idea of them making their own penicillin (no prize for guessing why). He'd even been willing to shell out money on the bread and the jars.

Tommy and Felix were staring at him like he was talking Klingon or something. Dean wondered how much of that the garden's all-speak hadn't translated. "There's more?" he suggested tentatively.

"I'm interested," Tommy said, so Dean finished the instructions and hoped the kid had the sense to test the result on something other than himself first.

When he was done, Dean's throat was sore and his mouth was dry. It had been a long time since he'd done so much talking. Him and dad had been doing their hunting apart for nearly a year now, and even when they'd shared the Impala, they hadn't talked much.

He leaned down to grab a bottle. It was warmish, but not bad. "Beer?" he asked, politely.

Tommy nodded, face perking up in curiosity. Felix's face did this little twist, but he shot Tommy a quick glance then gave Dean a nod, so Dean grabbed one for him, too. He popped the lids off before handing them over, because it wasn't likely that either of the two wizard dudes would have a bottle opener.

Each of them sniffed at their bottle of beer. They made weird faces, so Dean figured American brew had to be a lot different from whatever they cooked up here. Or not here, because this was a dream construct. But back wherever they lived when they weren't here.

"So, why are you two here in this weird-ass construct?" Dean asked with fake casualness. "'Cause, unlike everybody else I've seen in this place, you two seem to be actually trying to _do_ something."

.o0o.

 

**Felix**

It was a wonderful question, and since the answer was both complex and horrifying, Felix did not want to discuss it. Instead, he steered the conversation to the construction and purpose of the garden. It was easy enough to divert Thamuris' limited concentration.

"Huh," Dean said. "That's some spell." He looked around the garden. Thamuris followed his gaze, probably trying to see the Khloïdanikos the same manner as Dean. Felix took another cautious sip of Dean's brew. It was still repulsive. He put it down next to the bramble bush.

"So… How do you know this is a dream construct and not just an actual dream?" Dean asked. Felix nearly sneered. He was sure their previous discussion made it obvious.

Thamuris, always kinder than he, answered gently. "The sky is reversed." Thamuris looked up. Dean didn't.

Instead, Dean looked down at Thamuris. "Are you tripping?" he asked. "From one beer?"

Thamuris tilted his head in confusion. "I am perfectly steady on my feet."

Dean snorted. Felix assumed it was a laugh. "Nah, man. Are you drunk?" He jiggled his can. "Alcohol and meds. Don't always go well together."

"He is not drunk," Felix clarified, offended on Thamuris' behalf. "He means the sky is literally backwards. When it's night in the original garden in Nephele that constellation is to the west of us." He waved to his right. "Here, in the Khloïdanikos, it appears to the east."

"So the sky is backwards. Weird." Dean looked intrigued.

"There are some changes, of course." Thamuris continued. "The Gardens of Nephele have been altered over the centuries, repairs are performed, and items are replaced. By my calculations, it takes approximately fifty-two years for changes in the physical garden to impact the Khloïdanikos. And they are…"

"Badly done," Felix sniffed.

"Imperfect, is perhaps a better word," Thamuris chided.

Dean shook his head. He smiled, just one side of his mouth lifting in wry humor, and Felix was once again struck with how much Dean reminded him of Mildmay. "If I ever get a chance to tell Sammy this, he's gonna freak."

"Sammy?" Thamuris asked.

"My brother," was Dean's quick answer. "'Why' was always one of his favorite words. He would totally join you in your geek-fest.!br0ken!

Felix wasn't sure what a "geek-fest" was. Was calling a discussion a geek-fest supposed to be insulting? Dean's tone was both scornful and fond, so perhaps he didn't know either.

One of the small ruby bees ventured away from the brambles to fly close to them. Quick as a thief, Dean grabbed it in his fist. He opened his hand and looked at what he'd caught. "What the fuck..." He picked up the creature, careful not to damage its delicate wings, and held it up to the light. "Why is there a ruby bug in your garden?"

"It's not our garden," Felix protested automatically.

Dean shrugged. "It's still a flying ruby bee. Are gemstone insects common in your world?"

"'Tis a side effect of an experiment." Thamuris said,

"An experiment." Disbelief dripped from his voice.

Thamuris slid his glance to Felix, and Felix knew if he wanted to object, if he wanted to continue to direct the conversation away from the most embarrassing, most _painful_ , moments of his life, then Thamuris would let him. It was a level of gracious consideration that Felix could never hope to duplicate. It was also an offer that was impossible to accept.

He gave Thamuris a small wave and then turned away.

It was enough to know they would be discussing him and the Virtu and Malkar and Mildmay; Felix didn't actually need to _listen_.

"Yes, an experiment," Thamuris said. "The results, however, are causing us some concern."

"Oh man, it's your lucky day," Dean said with an unhappy snort. "Dealing with things that 'cause concern' is a specialty of mine. Tell me all about it."

.o0o.

 

**Dean**

Once they'd gotten past explaining the basics of the garden—who made it (didn't know), how it was made (no clue), and why (abso-friggin-lutely no idea)—they explained the bees and the briars. It was a story way better than even Tolkien, with an ancient evil blood mage, long lost brothers, royalty, dark spells, long journeys, various rescues of everybody by each other, romance, death, and even redemption (sort of) at the end.

Except it wasn't the end, because there were real people in a dream garden infested with the immortal evil of a dead wizard.

"Blood mage," Felix muttered. " _Not_ a wizard. There is a difference."

Unsurprisingly, Tommy did most of the talking since Felix didn't exactly come off like a superhero in the tale.

At certain points in the story, Dean almost decided this whole thing was just a very detailed and complex dream, and he really was on his bed in the hotel—had to be. But then Tommy would cough up some blood and Dean would give up on that idea once again. He could see himself dreaming up the tattoos on Felix, because those were seriously awesome as a display of power or club membership, or whatever they symbolized, but he couldn't see himself dreaming up a guy dying of TB.

Well, except Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday. That movie was kick-ass.

Also, there was no hot chick needing rescue. (Dean knew his dream preferences pretty well.)

Plus he could see the ruby bees flitting around. They were too fat to fly, but they were definitely in the air. (Probably because they were gemstone bees in a magic fucking garden where nobody and everybody was real all at the same time.)

Suddenly, fiercely, Dean wanted to be home—back in the world he knew, that had rules he understood.

"Okay," Dean recapped. "You killed a possibly two-hundred-year-old _blood_ _mage_ , and afraid that he would find a way to, um, re-manifest himself through the gems that had been in his rings, you brought them here to a place that's inherently magical. Now his rubies are showing up as little bees, and the plants they touch are dying. _And_ thorny bushes that scream when you cut them have taken over the area, and are invading your dream-trance thingy." He clapped his hands with abrasive enthusiasm. "Sounds like my kind of thing."

Felix muttered vague insults, even as Tommy pointed at the oak beside them. It was surrounded by a thick circle of briars, and even Dean, not a garden specialist or even close to one, could tell it was in trouble. It looked like a drunk had trimmed it. With a dull saw. Most of the branches were bare, with only a few clusters of green-grey leaves on the outer branches, drooping as if they'd given up all hope. The briars looked okay. Sure, the thorns were extra-long, but it still had color. Over it all the fat, little bees buzzed around and glinted in the garden's light.

Dean took a machete out of his bag and cut through a section of bramble.

Sure enough, the briars made a sound like a scream and a red ichor dripped out like really thick blood.

The branches also moved: the cut ones moved away, the un-cut ones moved forward to either attack or defend. It meant this wasn't a dream, at least not a normal dream, which _also_ meant the supernatural threat was real... In some other world or an alternate reality.

It made his head hurt.

He kept talking, kept smiling, but inside Dean was panicking.

This was way beyond what he knew how to deal with. Vampires, werewolves, even—those were no problem, but alternate realities? John Winchester had never trained him for that.

' _First step to finding a solution is identifying the problem'._ The internal voice sounded a lot like his dad's.

'The problem is that I'm stuck in a dream garden in a different world,' he answered back.

He could see his father shaking his head disapprovingly. _'_ _That's not the problem—not the_ current _problem.'_

'The rubies.'

Imaginary-Dad nodded. _'_ _The rubies. What are they?'_

He'd already done this: they were the power focus of a dead, evil wizard. Just having them around was like cursing th… Oh.

Now Imaginary-Dad was smiling while he nodded.

"So," Dean smiled, interrupting an argument that seemed about as ancient as the garden. "We need to cleanse the rubies." Both wizards stared at him. Dean made himself smile wider. "That means digging them up, and luckily, I got a shovel."

.o0o.

 

**Felix**

Felix tried not to let his nervousness show, but feared he'd failed miserably. Thamuris stood so close all Felix had to do was breathe deeply and they'd touch. At least the Troian wasn't holding his arm or rubbing his back. _That_ would've been intolerable.

Dean had offered to brave the brambles to dig up Malkar's jewels. He'd even removed his leather jacket and one of his shirts, leaving only a thin, tight-fitting one which did nothing to hide the muscles in his back and arms. Under different circumstances, Felix would've enjoyed seeing Dean swinging his blade to cut back the briars, watching how smoothly Dean's body worked…

Felix admitted that he was actually enjoying that aspect of this endeavor. It was a much-needed distraction that didn't revolve around verbally dissecting either of his companions. He couldn't plug his ears to cut out the bush's inhuman screaming, so he let his eyes and his mind drift to Dean's broad back, and strong hands.

Not that there would ever be anything sexual between them. The Khloïdanikos may allow for complete physical corporation, but Dean's personality was far too strong.

If he was molly—of which he'd given no indication—Felix highly doubted the man would be submissive, and submissives were the only kind of boys Felix took to bed. After being a Pharoahlight whore, after Malkar, Felix would let no man have that kind of advantage over him. Not even Gideon.

He cut off the thought. He was trying to remain calm, after all.

"He reminds me of Mildmay." Thamuris' soft voice broke into Felix's reverie. "Dean hides it much better than Mildmay can, but they are both dangerous men."

"It's hard for Mildmay to hide behind smiles." The scar that bisected the left side of Mildmay's face wasn't Felix's fault. It had happened long, long before they'd known about each other, but as with most things to do with his thief-assassin-protector-whipping boy brother, Felix's automatic response was to lash out defensively.

It was just as well Thamuris was well-versed in Felix's habits, for he just smiled gently despite the tone, "I doubt he would, even if he were able."

No, Felix had to concede. Mildmay likely wouldn't smile as often or as widely as Dean. He wondered what Mildmay's smile would have looked like without his scar. What would _Mildmay_ have looked like, if he hadn't lived the life he had. They both had the red hair that was prevalent in Troia, the land of their mother's birth, but Felix's father had likely been Troian whereas Mildmay, born six years after Felix, was likely fathered by one of their mother's customers.

Dean didn't have his brother's red hair, but he had the same green eyes.

It didn't take Dean long to reach the oak and then dig up the bag of rubies, even with the little bees buzzing aggressively around him. It was long enough for the reflections of a couple of the garden's other visitors to stop and watch. They pointed at the bees, and bent their heads together in earnest discussion.

"It seems our activities haven't gone unnoticed," Thamuris said quietly.

Felix ignored the comment. Just as he ignored the ghostly observers. Instead, he concentrated on enjoying the view as Dean backed out of the bramble with a small, dirty shovel in one hand and a small, dirty bag in the other. It was suddenly remarkably difficult to breathe.

Dean stood, his mouth open to speak. When he saw their audience he smirked and waved. The two reflections lifted their noses and stalked away. "Jeez," he said. "It was just a little Holy water. And salt. One pass with an iron knife..."

"You... Tried to stab one of the other occupants?" Felix asked with a blink.

Dean shook his head.."Stab? Nah. Just checking for what kind of ghosts they were."

Before Felix could ask Dean what conclusion he'd reached, Thamuris spoke. "So how do we proceed?" He was swaying gently. Felix hoped it was from the alcohol, but suspected it was exhaustion. Thamuris spent more time in the garden than did Felix. He worried about it more, but then he needed it more as it held his consumption at bay.

"Usually, we just burn the cursed object–"

Felix repressed an instinctive snort. "I assure you, fire has been tried." He'd burned Malkar, burned and burned him in his magically constructed Mélusine. When Felix had returned to Malkar's workshop, his mentor-torturer had been nothing but ash. Even the metal of his rings had melted to slag. Only the rubies had remained.

"Yeah, well, normal fire doesn't work on rubies. They're essentially hardened lava or some shit like that," Dean said. "But I got other stuff in my bag for purification. Something's gotta work."

"Oh, of course," Felix murmured, knowing he sounded snide, but Malkar's rubies were _here,_ and Felix could feel the echoes of his mentor's magic even from this distance. His fingers twisted together in a constant loop that didn't help Felix relax.

Thamuris swayed towards him. "He does seem to know what he's doing."

It was meant to reassure, but Felix sneered his doubt. "I doubt his little hedge witch skills are on a par with Malkar's two hundred years of blood sorcery."

Thamuris smiled. "Thanks to you, he doesn't have to. The only taint left is just what you couldn't remove from the stones." That was true. Felix had been very determined to erase Malkar, to remove Malkar's hold on _him_ , and that had meant subverting and dispersing the power in Malkar's rings.

Still, it was somewhat satisfying when first one then another of Dean's "sure fire" cleansing agents failed to remove the taint from the rubies inside the bag. Salt, some kind of special water, chants, and fire augmented by a different and noxious liquid—Dean tried them all. After each attempt, Felix shook his head: noirant energy still flowed from the bag. The rubies weren't safe.

Felix very carefully controlled his urge to comment as Dean started combining his useless tools.

"Are they more effective when combined?" Thamuris asked mildly. Felix brought his hand up to cover his mouth when Dean spat out a curse in reply.

"This wouldn't be difficult if I had access to an industrial oven. Or a steel smelter," he muttered. "If it was good enough for the Terminator..."

"Do you have access to either of those things?" Felix wasn't curious about who or what "the terminator" was. It sounded ruthless and evil, and he'd had enough of that in his life. _He_ was enough of that... Probably. But not all the time. And he was trying to do better.

"I don't have one on me," Dean replied with an admirable amount of sarcasm. "But I know a couple guys back home who probably have access."

"That's not helpful in the least." Felix hadn't meant to say anything, but this whole exercise had been annoying and pointless. "If the equipment isn't here..."

Dean's posture shifted from apologetic to aggressive. "Look, carrot-top, I already spent my day taking out a witch and a possessed dog. I sure didn't plan on helping asshole warlocks clean up their mess in some weird-ass dream garden in some alternate dimension." His voice was tight with frustration.

Felix straightened to his full height and pulled his court manners around him. He would not be talked down to by an incompetent bully boy. "I did not request your help, and since you've _been_ of no help, you might as well go back to—" Felix waved his fingers, dismissing Dean's place of origin.

Dean frowned and became dangerous in the same way Mildmay could become dangerous. "You show me the way out of this fucking maze and I'm gone."

"Oh, and do you know how to do that?" Felix sneered. "Since you aren't dreaming back in _your_ world."

"The Khloïdanikos will help." Thamuris' lips tilted in a smile. "He could take the rubies with him."

"Yeah, sure, I'll take the rubies with me," Dean said with a laugh, but it made Felix stop.

"The garden will help?"

Thamuris hummed confirmation.

"How's a _garden_ going to help?"

Felix ignored Dean, focusing instead on his fellow wizard. His arms tightened around his ribs until it was hard to draw breath. Thamuris was suggesting that _Dean_ —unknown and so-far incompetent—Dean take Malkar's rubies to his world for safe disposal. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"The Khloïdanikos is a construct, but it is also alive, in a way," Thamuris said. "It wants the rubies removed. It's why it brought Dean here."

"Not the greatest recommendation, at the moment," Dean said with an awkward head rub. "But I do, generally, know what I'm doing."

Felix lifted a brow.

"Or I know people who do."

"It will help him leave, if he takes the rubies."

It was logical. had been extant for nearly as long as the Mirador. The Khloïdanikos was built in and of magic, like the Mirador, and Felix had spent enough time in the basements of the Mirador (and heard enough stories from Mildmay) to know that corridors it wasn't alive, but it wasn't inert either. It was entirely possible that the Khloïdanikos considered Dean it's best chance of survival.

But was the Khloïdanikos concerned with anyone else's survival?

Felix wished for the first time that Mildmay could join him in the garden. His brother was much more perceptive when it came to judging the character and motives of the people he met. However, Mildmay wasn't here, so it was up to Felix to judge if this man they'd just met could be trusted with the Malkar's rubies. An unscrupulous person, given access to the noirant energy they still held could become monstrous. Not unlike Felix himself.

Would Dean keep his word?

He examined Dean, judging him as he would any wizard of the Curia.

He was likely as intelligent as the average Curia wizard, but as most of _those_ had been brain-cloistered idiots, it wasn't much of a recommendation. Also, unfortunately, what little intelligence Dean had was lost under a certain intellectual laziness. Dean was a fighter, more accustomed to using strength than brains, and happy to let it be so. Felix was sure that the hunter let someone else do most of the planning, while he was content to be pointed at a target and told what to do.

The lack of ambition was not a bad thing in this instance. In fact, the less curious Dean was about what he could do with Malkar's rubies, the safer they would be in his hands.

"You will destroy the gems? Not stick them in a box somewhere?" Not try to sell them or use their power, he didn't say. He didn't want to give Dean ideas.

He needn't have worried. Dean's face filled with horrified disgust. "Hell, yeah, I'm gonna destroy them! They're like the One Ring, right? And I ain't a Hobbit."

Felix blinked. "I don't know what a hobbit is, but I believe our purposes are aligned."

But when they opened the bag, the rubies were already gone.

.o0o.

 

**Dean**

After they discovered the bag was empty except for a half-dissolved playing card, Felix and Tommy went into Serious Discussion mode. After adding the only thing he could to the discussion (it had _felt_ like the rubies were in the bag; it had jiggled and had weight when he dug it up) Dean cleaned the machete and his shovel as best he could, before putting them back in his bag.

He grabbed another beer, but it was too warm to be even mildly enjoyable. He put the cap back on and put it back in the carry-case. He grabbed the two bottles he'd given to Felix and Tommy. Neither one of them were empty, and Dean automatically tipped them in order to pour the beer onto the ground.

He stopped. Dumping foreign stuff into this magic dream garden was what had caused this mess in the first place.

The two wizards were still arguing, so Dean looked for the bottle caps and pushed them back on. It wasn't great, but it should be enough to keep anything from spilling out. Then there was nothing to do but to stand around and watch the ruby bees flit angrily around the path he'd cut in the briars. Good thing they didn't have any stingers.

Cute little fuckers. Too bad they were cursed. Like the witch's token he'd had to burn earlier today.

Would it still be today when he got back home?

There was no way to tell time here in bizarro-world. The "sun" hadn't moved and his watch was ticking backwards and forwards. (He knew because he'd watched the second-hand for a while.)

He hadn't yawned once since he'd arrived in the garden.

It was an odd realization. Kinda useless, but also kinda freaky. He should've been swaying with exhaustion, but instead he was just bored. Maybe it was some of the place's mojo, working to keep him awake the way Tommy said it was helping to keep him alive.

Didn't mean he didn't still want to get home and just sleep for twelve hours.

Maybe he'd swing by Stanford; see how Sam was faring. He'd give his dad a call, for sure. Although he'd leave out the magic garden and the wizards, and just stick to the difficulties of destroying cursed rubies. That is, he would if John Winchester would pick up his damned phone so he could arrange a day and a city. The lack of contact had Dean worried. Sure, he wasn't tied to his dad or nothing, but they usually managed to meet up once a month—to update their journals, if nothing else.

It made Dean think something big was happening off screen, something only his dad could see. He didn't like the idea, but until his dad called him in all he could do is be prepared, and hunt the monster in front of him.

Even if the monster in question was a persistent ruby bee that bobbled around them, and kept trying to land on the bag that had once held it. When it was, you know, just a regular ruby, and not a bee.

He caught all the ruby bees, and stuffed them back in the bag where they bumped and banged against the side of the bag in an effort to be free. Every time he caught one he muttered, "I've never seen a man beat the snake before" (because _Road Warrior_ was awesome). Then he paced, and drank his warm beer anyway, because why not? Until, finally, Felix and Tommy quit their yammering and came over.

"We know what's going on," Felix announced.

"More like a theory," Tommy qualified.

"And a plan to transport the rubies out of the Khloïdanikos."

"An idea."

The theory was that the rubies were the bees (duh), and the plan was to duplicate the method Felix used to bring them into the garden in the first place.

"I just don't know if it will work to gather them up and take them out again." Felix said with a wave of his hand.

"Brother, if it'll get me out of this boring-ass place, I will _make_ it work."

Felix just rolled his eyes. "It took a great deal of focus and will to transfer the rubies here."

Dean grinned. "If you got the focus, I got the will. Nothing I'd like better than to get back home. Besides, I've already caught all the bees."

They both looked at him in amazement. "All the bees?"

Dean nodded and held up the squiggling bag.

"Ten of them?" Felix asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, dude. I know how to count my fingers."

"Fine," he said in a huff. Then he gave Dean a snotty lecture on how magic worked, which essentially was "because I say so" (asshole) but didn't seem to involve deals with demons. (Except, given Felix's description of that Malkar dude, Dean couldn't rule demons out completely.) It was followed by instructions on taking the rubies out of the garden by imagining them back as bees on a fucking _Tarot_ _card_.

"You're shitting me." It was Dean's turn be stunned.

Felix wasn't impressed. "You must hold the construct in your mind, and anchor it to the card," he insisted.

"Dude, it's not the same thing at all," Dean argued.

"I don't know why I expected you to understand."

And yeah, okay. Dean got that what this Malkar guy had done to Felix had been fucking awful, but the rubies weren't Malkar, and Felix was fucking irritating.

"You just want it to be difficult, because it's a big thing to you. It means a lot _to you._ But, unlike you, I'm not scared of some fucking _rubies_. And I'm not trying to take something physical into a dream world," he said over whatever protest Felix might've made. "The rubies are physical. My world is physical. I don't see the problem. Plus, it's not like it took any willpower for me to get here. I just wanted a shower and a beer, but instead I walked into your weirdo garden. No will required. And I brought my tools and my beer right along with me."

It was a stand-off, because Felix was a dick, and Dean was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. Then Tommy broke into a coughing fit so bad he had to grab Felix's arm to keep from falling over. When he straightened, he looked bad—really bad.

"You should come, too," Dean said impulsively. "I'll get you into a hospital. They'll fix up your TB no problem. We'll need to get contacts, cover up those yellow eyes, maybe have them do an allergy test just in case."

Felix's hand wrapped around Dean's wrist. He was surprisingly strong for a fluttery guy. Dean figured he was going to get some interesting bruises. "Thamuris could be cured?"

"Yeah. I mean, probably. We're pretty good at that stuff," Dean said. He twisted his wrist to break Felix's grip. "I mean, we're not from the same planet, so what if his blood's too different? What if his TB is some weird drug-resistant strain our doctors have never seen before?"

Oh shit.

Dean had seen enough sci-fi, end-of-the-world movies to know what a bad idea he'd just put out there. But to offer a guy hope only to snatch it away again was a douche move. He couldn't take it back.

Tommy understood anyway. "What if I unleash this disease on your world and they are unable to combat it?"

"Is that possible?" Felix asked

"Yeah. And I got no idea how you'd get back here," Dean said, awkward and uncomfortable.

"Have no worries," Tommy smiled gently. "I have no desire to leave my world. And by telling me of your 'antibiotics', you have given me a new path to explore."

That made Dean feel better. "You'll need a microscope, so you can look at what's in your blood. And then a syringe to inject it. But you should test it on something else first. You know that, right?" Dean spent the rest of the walk back to his gate explaining what he knew of medicine (which turned out to be more than he'd thought, because ten-plus years of stitching up his dad and watching for infection was a good teacher.

When they got to his gate, Dean conscientiously grabbed the empty bottle and put it in the carry-case. The last one.

"So this is it." He held out his hand. Tommy first, as he was a decent guy, then Felix. "Good luck to you both. Try to avoid blood mages, huh?"

.o0o.

 

**Felix**

Felix ripped his hand away from Dean's. He had no right...

"–and I'll stay away from witches. That way we should all be safe."

His smile, lopsided and sad, said they weren't the kind of people for whom safety was likely. It was kin to Mildmay's acceptance of all the misery that had happened, and would happen, to him, and his belief that all one could do was continue through it. Dean was more like Mildmay than just in looks.

That realization softened Felix's response. "Some of us actually try to avoid danger."

Thamuris laughed.

Traitor.

But Thamuris' laughter changed Dean's smile into brightness, clear and young, and so beautiful Felix lost his breath.

The laughter slipped from Dean's face. He swung his tool bag over his shoulder and picked up his box of beer bottles, carefully maintaining his grip of the bag full of rubies.

He put the hand with the rubies on the gate latch. "I hope you're right about the garden wanting me gone, 'cause here goes nothing."

Felix realized he was holding his breath, one hand before his mouth as if to keep it in.

Dean saw it, saw his nervousness, and winked at him. "Remember: 'There's no place like home'."

And then he pushed open the gate.

Felix had never seen the outside of a gate, not from the garden side, at least. He had never left the Khloïdanikos in this manner, and from Thamuris' enraptured expression, neither had the young Celebrant.

Dean didn't walk into blackness. There wasn't a diorama of an alien world. Rather the view was a blurry, heavy gray, like fog in the night time. Dean didn't fade into the gray. One moment he was walking with purpose, rolling slightly with his bow-legged gait, then he lost all color. Then he was gone.

"Fascinating," Thamuris breathed.

The gate swung shut with a clang.

After a pause, Thamuris said with soft slyness. "You realize, his cleansing techniques might have worked if he'd been using them on the actual rubies, and not on an empty bag?"

.o0o.

 

**Dean**

Dean's heart was thumping like a Neil Peart drum solo as he stepped through the gate. "There's no place like home," he muttered even as he knew that a slightly scuzzy motel room wasn't exactly home. As long as his baby was still where he'd parked her if he got back, he'd be happy.

 _When_ , not if. He was too fucking tired to deal with fucking 'ifs'.

Inside the bag, the bees had stopped ramming the leather. Dean figured that whatever magic had made them into bees had been left behind in that fucking garden, so now they were just regular rubies again. He'd find out _when_ he got to back to the motel, so no point worrying about it now.

It was worrying enough that there weren't any markers for him to navigate from, no flashing EXIT sign to guide him, so he kept putting one foot in front of the other. He was going to get back to the motel room (and his baby) and then he'd go to Caleb to destroy the rubies. Although, in order to crush super-hard gemstones, Bobby Singer probably had better equipment, since the dude owned a junkyard.

They used to spend a lot of time at Bobby's when he was younger. Then, just after Sam took off, his dad had said or done something, and they'd fought. It felt kind of disloyal to his dad to want to go see Bobby, or to ask for his help, but Bobby's place had once felt like home… Maybe he'd walk out of the garden and end up in Sioux Falls. Or Blue Earth with Pastor Jim, who'd served with Dad in Vietnam. His place was also one Dean thought of as stable.

Another three steps, and no change in the gray.

If he closed his eyes, would it be more or less freaky? It wasn't like he could see anything anyway. He tried it, and all that happened was that he could smell himself again. Wet fur and dried blood from the hunt he'd been on before stepping into the magic garden.

He opened his eyes. And took another couple steps. He'd driven the impala with the window open, to try and cut down on it. (He didn't want the smell sinking into the leather.)

Fuck. When was this gray going to end? She'd better be okay when he got back to her.

One more step, and he was in the parking lot of the motel.

"Holy shit."

The impala gleamed under the lights, a shadow in the night. Dark and dangerous and okay.

He'd made it home.

/fin

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone isn't familiar with the fandoms I played in...
> 
>  _Supernatural_ is a TV series about 2 brothers who were raised from a young age to fight monsters and supernatural beings. I love the hell out of the first 5 seasons. What a story! (They lived out of a Chevy Impala for the first half of the series.) <http://supernatural.wikia.com/wiki/Supernatural_Wiki>
> 
> _Doctrine of Labyrinths_ is a 4-book series written by Sarah Monette, whose awesomeness I cannot adequately describe. The world-building alone must have taken her years, and yet there's no emphasis on it. In fact, her characters take it mostly for granted, because, of course, they live in it. Warning, these are not “light” fantasy in any way. [http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/DoctrineOfLabyrinths ](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/DoctrineOfLabyrinths)
> 
> As always, if you spotted any typos or other errors, please let me know.


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